


As The World Comes To An End

by thesweetpianowritingdownmylife



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3934048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife/pseuds/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley fucks up a deal with the Italian mafia by being too cheeky, losing a million dollar deal for his employer, and he honestly believes that Fisk will beat him to death for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As The World Comes To An End

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "King and Lionheart", my number one Fiskley song.

Wesley went back to the warehouse fully expecting to die. He could have tried to run, left the city, the country, and hidden somewhere far, far away from Wilson Fisk, but he knew he would be found. It was better to walk into his fate and die standing – _it will be more like_ _lying down, covered in blood, being punched to death_ , his mind supplied. He almost allowed himself to hope for a quick death; perhaps Fisk would take in consideration all his years of practically flawless service, and punish his one blunder swiftly. But realistically he knew that, if Fisk had worked himself into a rage, the man would be seeing red, and he would suffer a great deal of pain. For a moment, he considered the possibility of shooting himself in the head and get it over with, but decided against it. He had to face the consequences of his enormous mistake, he owed it to his employer. His employer, with whom he was in love, who was about to kill him. He faltered for a moment, right at the door of the building, when he heard Fisk’s screams from within, but soldiered on after breathing deeply a couple of times.

As he entered the room, Fisk backhanded the man he was screaming at. “How is that a solution?! That will just get us all killed!”

Wesley cleared his throat, and all the attention of the room shifted to him. “Sir…” he wanted to say something, apologize maybe –as useless as it would be–, but his tongue stopped working, his mouth dried up suddenly and it became a problem to keep on breathing. His expression remained neutral –chastised and apologetic, but not showing how extremely terrified he was. There was a moment of silence.

“Leave us.” Fisk ordered coldly, and the three other men in the room practically ran to the exit. Wesley knew he should get closer, accept his imminent death. What was the point of delaying it? His legs, though, refused to obey.

“What were you thinking?!” Fisk exploded again. “I told you to show respect! I told you that the usual bullshit wouldn’t be enough for the Italians!” Seeing that Wesley was not going to move, he walked to him. “You blew it up! Millions of dollars down the drain! And where the hell will we be getting the new ammo now?! Who’s going to put a good word for us?!” He reached him and Wesley stepped back involuntarily, his back hitting the wall. “What the hell…?!”

Fisk interrupted his tirade when Wesley flinched visibly, averting his eyes and scrunching his face, waiting for the pain that was surely to come. He looked back at Fisk’s eyes briefly when it didn’t.

Wilson saw him, then, the pale skin, the bags under his eyes, the hunched shoulders. The utterly terrified expression that he was trying to mask with indifference. He was even shaking a little. Fisk saw in him his own mother when she was about to be beaten by the man she had chosen to love.

With a scream of rage, he punched the wall right next to the other’s head, making him release a sob in fear.

He had promised himself never to put that look on the face of someone he cared about. _I’m just… I’m just like him_.

Wesley had started hyperventilating.

Fisk backed off, turning his back on the other man. He looked at his hand, bloodied and dirty with the wall’s pulverized plaster, and winced.

“Get the first aid kit, will you?”

Wesley scrambled past him to the cabinet on the other side of the room. He came back with the kit, gestured him to sit at the table, and started to work.

He poured water over the splintered skin on his knuckles and cleaned it gently with the gauze. Wesley’s hands were shaking so hard that it was a miracle he didn’t hurt him further. He applied the antiseptic and dressed the wounds, dropping his hands quickly when he was  finished.

“James.” Fisk called, softly. The other man hadn’t dared to look at him directly since he had punched the wall. “Breathe.”

He could feel the other man’s panic like oil, sticking to his skin, making him as dirty and disgusting as he knew he was. He tried to reach for him with his good hand but Wesley flinched again, and he dropped it dejectedly.

“I’m not…” Fisk sighed. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Wesley looked at him, disbelief and utter panic written in his features. It made Fisk want to scream again.

“You won’t…? Look. Please.” Wesley’s voice was shaky, but determined. “For the times I’ve served you well, please just shoot me.”

“What?!”

Wesley flinched again at his exclamation. “Please. Just… make it quick.”

“What the hell are you talking about?! You think I’d…” Fisk closed his mouth. He did. He truly believed that Fisk was planning on killing him. “No.” He stated firmly. “I won’t do that.”

Wesley’s head shot up again, his lips pressed in a thin line, his eyes red-rimmed and almost teary. “Please, sir…”

“I’m not going to kill you. Christ, James…” He sighed as the other man made a strangled sound of relief. “Why would I do that?”

“With all due respect… I’ve seen you kill your own men for less.” He replied quietly. His breath was still uneven.

“Well…” Fisk knew he sometimes got carried away; there was no point in denying it. “Yes. But they were not _you_. You’re _different_.” He took Wesley’s hands in his. “You’re my friend.” He finished, softly.

Wesley’s body was still high on adrenaline and relief, trembling slightly, but the touch of Fisk’s hands, his thumbs rubbing circles on his skin, grounded him enough to be able to breathe normally.

“I’m sorry for my mistake, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Fisk smiled. “Find a suitable solution for the problem, and I’ll forget all about it. And please…” he squeezed the other man’s hands, “remember that you’re safe with me. From myself and from others.”

Wesley nodded and finally smiled back. “Will do, sir.”


End file.
